He gave his reason. “I ain’t got no money, and they won’t give stamps at the store.” When she went home Hazel took Child Life out of the trunk and put it, almost savagely, on her table. “It’s a wicked shame,” she said to herself. “He works and works and he can’t have one single thing.” She took her pen, dipped it in the ink, and turning to the title page wrote under her own name, “To Scipio Lee.” When she was done she looked at it hard and winked the tears from her eyes. Then she placed it on the shelf with the primer and the dictionary and the Jungle Book. “Granny, will you write to me when I leave here?” she asked that night as they sat on the porch. “Yes, sugar; but you mustn’t be surprised at my kind of writing. Colored children weren’t taught to read and write in slavery days, but your father he learned me. When he were about twelve he began. ‘It may be I done leave home and mammy by and by,’ he said, ‘and I wants to get letters from my mother.’ So he worked with me every day like you work with Scip.” “I remember the letters you wrote. Father loved them. I would understand what they were about now. So you’ll surely write me,” she went on persistently. “Yes, honey.” “Then, Granny, will you let Scip put his letters inside of yours, because he hasn’t money to buy stamps?” “I sure will, you dear child.” It had been arranged that Miss Davis should call for Hazel the Monday morning after her school closed and should take her to the station. She was to come at ten o’clock. The day before, Sunday, Scipio, on Granny’s and Hazel’s urgent invitation, took supper with them. The boy felt more conscious of his ill-kept clothes within doors than when with Hazel in the woods, but she had been persistent and he had come. She took him into her room and showed him the shelf with its four books. “I give them to you,” she said solemnly, and put them in his arms. He looked bewildered. “You ain’t leaving all these for me?” he asked. She nodded, “Yes, they’ve got your name in them.” “I can’t have ’em,” he said, almost crying. “I ain’t any place to keep ’em. The boys is worse than ever now you don’t let me lick ’em.” Hazel was dumb for a moment. Then she called Granny to her. The old woman appeared in the doorway and the situation was explained to her. “Could Scip keep the books here on this shelf?” Hazel asked. “Then they would be quite safe.” “Why, in course,” Granny replied heartily. “And maybe he’ll read aloud sometimes to me. We could make them out together.” “I’m going to know how to read,” Scip said resolutely. “I never had nothing to read before, but now I’ve got books and a dictionary.”